Seals and Acceptance
by DillyTheWombat
Summary: Nevermind the word ambitious, Annabeth was obsessed. Her one big dream is to restore honour to her family's name, the name that her mother spit and step down upon. And what better way to free her family of such disgrace than finding a talking, living pen who swore itself was a legendary sword by the name of Riptide? Oh, and it liked being called Percy by the way. Percabeth, AU.
1. Floating Below with You in Tow

**00: Floating Below with You in Tow**

* * *

 _Blue. Wet. Seaweed. Can't breath._

Her mind was frozen and in retrospect, Annabeth should have known this was a trap all along. Should have smelled his treacherous behaviour miles away. Should have been smart enough to notice the obvious big red flag waving itself mockingly in front of her face.

—But the problem is, she _didn't_. And it terrified her.

Inwardly, she scowled at herself. She can't believe it - to be fooled once was one thing, but _thrice_ in a row? Wow, she was on a roll! Honestly, she was sure she won the Dumbest Woman of the Year award if that was a thing. Hell, Magnus will make it a thing if he saw how pathetic she was being - grasping for air in a sunken cruise that she remembered Luke had once called The Andromeda.

 _Luke_ , she thought bitterly.

The name itself already brought carnage down her stomach, draping her like cold ice water in a harsh winter night. How could he-no, how _dare_ he did this to her? Does breaking her heart with betrayals not enough? Is the thought of her _corpse_ floating above the sea surface was all that matter to him? Amusing his _sick_ fantasy?

Annabeth shook her head and swim, more from her problems and less for her life. Both option was sour at the moment, true. But she can't afford to lost them both. As much as she want to throw what she thought as worthless, she have a score to settle and a revenge to serve. On how to achieve these, she'll need to live and she'll need a reminder of her misery to act without mercy. Beside, serve _it_ cold is the best way, no?

—She burst open her prison door. Swimming near it then kicked it with all her might - and she succed. Water that came from the purposely shattered window floured out of the room, carrying her and it massive load to join the water in the corridor.

She coughed up some liquid out of her system, then picked up a lone seaweed on top of her damp blond hair. Annabeth goes tight lipped and throw the sea-plant as far away from her as possible, not particularly liking her chance on surviving and she took it off on the poor plant. She get moving.

Trying to get her legs working, Annabeth wobbly tried to stand up. Waves after waves come crashing into her body, weighing her down and it definitely give her a hard time. Especially when she's still wearing her heels on. But that doesn't mean she'd give up.

In front of her, hall stretched far too narrow and far too thick for her liking. On either side of them, pure white walls caged her and give no room for escape, no door other than where she came and no stair in sight. With the hall plain decor and itsblindingly whitish colour, it definitely giving her the sting eye. More so than the sea water.

And speaking of her damned predicament: the water was starting to get to her, plunging her chest-deep to the point where she wasn't even sure if there was a crimson carpet beneath her. (From her _absolutely_ reliable memory, there was).

Annabeth cursed and took off her heels. Pen clutched in one hand and black stilettos in the other.

"You better be worth it," she murmured to the writing utensil and it hummed in response. She took no mind to this, writing it off as her wild drenched in adrenaline imagination, pocketing the oddly warm pen into her black jacket.

—And she took off.

After that, everything becomes a scribbled blur. She'd recall going from floor after floor opening up all the door she could fine, frantically; finding it either useless, full of fancy garbages that a sinking ship wouldn't need, plain weird, or another one way ticket for her to book a flight to the Underworld (seriously, who in Hades' name put a bear trap in a closet?). But unfortunately, no emergency staircase. If she said that was a fatal flaw on the designer part, that would be a _huge_ understatement of the century. Or maybe it just her with her dumb luck that didn't cross path with it yet. It's probably the latter.

The Andromeda was pretty easy to navigate - if twisted paths, stairs that lead to nowhere, and labyrinth rigid of a hallway could be classified as such, then, be her guest. She was roaming with no guide and she was desperate to kill the son of a bitch who design the cruise. What are they, an idiot? Seriously, how can anyone enjoyed a trip here? If _she_ was in charge, she would make it a noble mission to destroy any piece of work this guy made. And if they were Luke, it's an added bonus.

Regardless of her spinning mind, she scalded through the minuscule tides of the ocean, perfectly knowing the grey slitted dress she's been wearing was by far not suitable for any type of climbing (that trust her, was needed) nor it was a great outfit for a diving expedition. But somehow, Annabeth still managed to get herself on the deck intact - sky littered with stars and half the ship's was now seventy-five degree upward heading north. The other half though was pretty much drowning below, doomed to be unseen forever.

Witnessing such magnificent sight and involved with it head on, she'll give anything to lay bare her stomach right there and then, feeling small and worthless on the sea of nothingness. Offhandedly, fighting the urge to vomit, she heard a weird hum coming from the inside of her jacket. And like the last time, she ignore it. There's a more pressing matter she'll need to handle as of now.

—Like that skidding beach chair for example.

"Oomph!" Annabeth grunted, reflex kicking in and she jumped from one side to the other. Her hands and feets digging its way into the wooden floor, stilettos left forgotten and furniture barely dodged.

Sweat dripped down her cheek, containing her urge to look down. _I need to climb, and fast._

And climb she did.

The sight of her fingers becoming raw and swollen was stuffed roughly in the back of her head, the thought itself barely registered in her use to be engine-powered but now mush brain. She can't fandom it happening in the rush to self herself. To put it simply: she doesn't care about them. Climb and climb and climb, the word crossed her mind so many times it practically shown with a blinking red light of 'DANGER' in her eyes.

The grimace on her face is evident, no one can't deny that. Annabeth's mess of a blond hair sticking distractingly on her face and she huffed so much breath she was surprised her lung didn't exploded yet. Every mass in her body screamed as if it was burned from Tartarus' deepest pit, the ocean's wind told the foresign of a storm brewing trying to throw her off. And there's definitely a knot in her muscles chocking her inside out. Least to say, she's feeling wonderful, why do you ask?

—She dodged a painting of a fat guy dressed as a dolphin.

The result, Annabeth lost her grip on the plank.

There wasn't even time for her to react, no scream, no curses, no blaming that fat guy for her mistake. She just fall. Her body rolled and crashed into the ship's metal rail, shoulder blade cracking and ankle disjointed in dismay. She was slipping off the ship and she can do nothing about it but watch in horror. A few seconds later like she predicted, she flew, nose diving breaking the sea iced surface.

And then she died. The end.

Oh, she _wish_.

But wouldn't that be a lovely ending though? Simple and easy to wrap around the brain. Annabeth liked that ending best, her end at least wouldn't be as painful, she could say bye-bye to her endless suffering and be done with life. But _no_ , something else just _have_ to transpire that night. Just... Lovely.

Anyway, where do we left off? Falling from the rail and future of drowning in the endless sea? Yeah, that must be it. It's not like Annabeth could just swim up to the surface and free herself of watery chains, oh no! That would be _too_ easy. There's no ankle to speak of for her to swim. And that was prove enough on what Annabeth learned from life - anything you'll do, it will never be easy.

So she dived deeper. And deeper. And _deeper_. Until no light could ever dreamed of reaching her.

By then, Annabeth's lung have burn like no other. Similar to her episode back on the deck, but ten times worst. Finally, the pain was too overbearing to take, she can take no more. She give in, mouth agape letting a hitch of her breath flew before her, turning into bubbles.

How Annabeth wish she was that bubbles.

And the inevitable finally came knocking. The water forced their way into her mouth, her nostril, her ears, her eye socket. If there's a hole in her body, you'll find water already filling in. The feeling was horrible, the feeling of unidentified gallons of liquid injected into her inside and making it moss. She chocked one last pained tear before she lost consciousness, her body drifting with the waves, current of fishes unavoidable.

If only she was awake, she would have seen the giant bubble that started to form around her. Beckoning her like a protecting cocoon.

If only she was awake, she would have realize the bubble have floated her back onto the surface. Popping as soon as chilly wind entered her system.

If only she was awake, hours later she would have seen that her cousin had found her, a jet ski and a megaphone was his only tool on searching. Later, his concerned face would greet her the first time she'd opened her eyes.

If only she was awake, she would have feel the pen growing warmer and even brighter every time it heard her heartbeat.

When she does awake, she felt like dreaming.

* * *

 **A/N: Ah, I don't how to begin. But let me tell you how this story came above. For the one who care that is:**

 **So, this story was the manifestation of a really weird idea that I came up after re-playing the Tomb Raider series on PS1 and re-reading Magnus Chase a couple of times. It bring this image of Annabeth being her usual badass self, hair swaying in the wind, perched on top of a rocky mountain and profession as an archaeologist holding Percy the artefact in her hand.**

 **On what artefact Percy suppose to be, I decided on a sword. 'Cause Jack, _duh_. I did said I've been re-reading Magnus Chase, am I right? And what better sword than Riptide (or Anaklusmos), the very sword that he own?**

 **Interesting, yes? Or am I being too cocky here?**

 **Anyway, I have a question for you guys. I've been wondering, do this story should be put on the crossover section or the regular one? This fic do have Magnus Chase characters in it, might be a prominent roll, might be not. But it will focus mainly on the PJO characters of course.**

 **Please guys, I'm super confused right now. I'm begging you, someone, help me - and by that I mean, "Please review 'cause I totally want your input on this." Oh, and also follow and favourite too. It'll make a very obsessed fans happy! (a.k.a me).**

 **And with that very shameless begging, I end this chapter here. Ahem, see you later, I guess. Until next time!**

 **Ciao!**


	2. Try Vicious, too Nauseous

**01: Try Vicious, too Nauseous**

* * *

When Annabeth was awake, she felt like drea-...

—Oh, wait, no. Her stomach suddenly churn and she scurried her mouth to the floorboard, vomiting. Vomited a hella lot for a bonny girl that was forced on a strict diet courtesy of her beloved aunt - oh, and there's also that unscheduled hobo eating program. How can see forget?

She gagged, eyebrows knitted together as she wiped her mouth with the heel of her palm to erase any traces. Annabeth's eyes was reeling with pain as she rub her sour and now empty stomach, keeping her attention to the liquid mess she committed on the use to be sizzling porcelain floor. She was ashamed by this, and tired, and her throat was burning, and there's definitely something wrong with her spine.

In the back of her head, the thought of her whereabout made small part of her consciousness fidget nervously as paranoia started to kick in. Quite understandable too, seeing her daily record for abduction nowadays. But alas, the majority of her mind was sluggish, still very much a puddle of mud in the depth of a flooded jungle. Her body reek of toasted muscle and fried skin. Unfamiliar clothes itched her very being and she hated it.

On further inspection, she realized she was wearing a hospital gown. Gown that only the _sicks_ would wear.

Annabeth breath hitched and she tousled out of bed, neck frantically whipped around to inspect her surrounding. She checked extra on her body also, dusting herself of any suspicious looking thing that may attach.

The woman's stormy grey eyes soon squinted, directing themself to the nearest source of light. They found opened square windows lining up on her left in a wide circular room, red curtains swaying as morning breeze sneaked in - that oddly, seems familiar. This little detail quickly shattered her asylum suspicion, even if the IV's attached to her arm nudged her to think so.

Wherever she was, it wasn't the house for the sicks nor the crazies. But it was bright, bright enough to make her wince and burned the essence in her retinas. Natural and non-natural light have seeped through by various means, like the windows that she had mentioned earlier. A grand lit chandelier dangling from the ceiling also contribute to the lighting. From the looks of it, it was made from pure gold - ceiling a colourful paved mosaic to complete the sky looks (she took a wild guess and said that the chandelier suppose to represent the sun and mosaics as the unseen stars). An expense she's all too familiar with.

The room itself was spacious, the wall and floor was painted to the colour of eggshell white with two giant silver wardrobe perched in the corner, an oval mirror stood tall dwarfing her height grounded between the two furniture. And there's also bookshelves. Dozens of them facing her, forming a perfect half circle giving the room a very personal library-esque feeling. Of course them being bookshelves, they were littered with many books. Books that she suspected was primary talking on the subject of ancient craft, ruins, and architecture.

Where Annabeth was first wake up - in a puffy king's sized bed big enough for four with its own yellow canopy - she was bewildered. Now, standing on her own two feet, having her own mind screeching to a halt - she could see, sense, and felt everything. From the milch of dust on the bookshelves, to how her reflection was perfectly captured on the mirror if she was to be situated on top of the bed.

There's no doubt about it, this room was her's alright.

(Emphasise on _was_ ).

Annabeth sighed and ruffled her now frizzled sleep-deprived hair out of frustration, golden lock tickling the crook of her neck. A thought entered her mind and she openly groaned. If this was anything like last time... well, there's no dilly-dallying it—she was doomed.

The blond, again, fervently looked around. Drinking in all the little changes that she catches - like that added geography book that she was sure doesn't belong to her and that tiny crack on one of the window's glass - probably resulted by incompetent ball throwing if she have to guess. She search for a secret passage way, to make possible road for her escape. Her mind raced a hundred miles an hours and know, just know, she was _trapped_.

Annabeth lived in this room since she was born for Gods' sake! if there was any secret road hidden somewhere, she would know, and only _she_ would know. So yeah, definitely no escape for her this time around. Hell, she should be grateful - she was lucky they never caught whiff of her in like... two years. Living on the street with no real meaning other than playing a psychotic version of Hide and Seek.

She felt rather nostalgic, the memories slowly drifted in as she left her gaze linger a tad too long, standing still on the same place and then... _too late_ , she was stuck. Annabeth relived that happy moments, her mother's sincere smile practically plastered itself in her head. She'd yearn for it, reaching for it in the depth of her mind and maybe, just _maybe_ she could-...

—Reality slapped her on the face.

Her lips clamped shut, she mentally kicked herself for being so sentimental.

 _You have your mission, Chase._ They mused, attention solely on a ball of yarn as they threaded. _Do it right and everyone's leave._

 _Everyone's leave_ , it echoed. She prayed to Gods she was on that equation.

Annabeth hugged herself, shivering, and dared to slowly walked to the shelves. Bare feet colliding with the hard, cold floor as she dragged her stubborn limbs on a trout. She didn't get far though, collapsing on her knees before she could even goes an inch off from her bed.

She huffed, annoyed. Holding her head as dizziness rushes in.

The room moved in circle, rocking along the waves as everything's creaked like the ship she was held captive on what felt like eons ago. The similarity was jarring and she forced herself to stand, hand lingering on her abdomen holding anything that lefts within. Her ankle popped as she wobble like an infant to their parent's open arms, ditching the tempting books' cover and choosing to retreat to the bed instead. Her palm resting on a modest wooden drawer, balancing her fatigue form.

She plopped unceremoniously to the gigantic comfy bed, making the springs inside squeaked handling her added weight. Annabeth sighed, opting to sit cross-legged on top of the mattress, her image daintily reflected on the silver—no, _platinum_ mirror.

Her grey, sullen eyes looked back. She looks like, for a lack of better subdue curse word, _crap_. The hair that should imitate a Princess' curls was a nest for a group of rats. Well, speaking metaphorically of course. There's no rats but she felt like it. And her tunnel of vision, the organ you called an eyes, was swapped with that of a bat. Bat wasn't blind, but they still have horrible eyesight you know. Oh, and even when she was sure she has hibernate for decades, eye bags still appeared and made the skin on her face look just like that of a panda. You know, blotch of black and white on a sickly, grey, skin?

 _My Gods, what the hell?_ Annabeth cupped her face in disbelief. Was this the side effect for jumping aboard the treacherous plane (or in her case: ship)? Comparing her body's parts to that of animals? She's losing her mind, wasn't she?

The pen moved in response, as if saying: "You totes lost it, girlfriend!"

—Wait, _what?_

Annabeth quickly glanced to the side, then gaped, don't believe in her sight. There, lying innocently on top of the drawer as if it wasn't the Devil's spawn from Tarturus, was the ballpoint pen she'd so adamantly stole from You-Know-Who. It rolled, closing in on her as if ordering her to take it.

She didn't take it.

In fact, she throw the damn thing to the mirror. It cracked, forming into uncounted spider webs as the pen come in contact. The pen fell, rolling to the floor by the bestow of gravity, clicking itself on and off as if moaning in pain. Not minding the expressiveness of a lifeless object (more like denying), Annabeth has no regret.

But suddenly, without warning, she was thrown off guard once more. The double-doors leading to where she was was swung open with a loud 'bang!' and her younger, butt cousin and clumsy partner in crime swing in. She jumped at his sudden, tuxedo-clad appearance, not having the time to wonder what the hell was _he_ doing here nor notice how the pen materialised itself in her hand.

"Annabeth! Cuz'!" Said Magnus the sidekick. "You need to scram! Fast! Gorilla is here!"

Then he elaborate, flat-faced jabbing a thumb at the door. "Oh, and Aunt Thalia too, I guess."

* * *

 **A/N: Wow, 2 favs and 8 follows. That's a lot for a prologue! Thank you so much guys! This totally risen my spirit! Yeeeeeah, adventuuuuuure. Writing adventuuuuuure.**

 **(Obscure YouTube reference is obscure).**

 **And see? We have Magnus appearing! Still wondering about that crossover section thing but, oh well. You guys would review for this, right? Also fav and follow too, right right? Make me jump in joy in my room like a nutjob, right right right? Ahem, please.**

 **Okay then, I'd just wanna say that.**

 **PS: Do not own the PJO, or HOO, or MCatGoA series. None. ...Sadly, hiks.**

 **Bye till next time!**

 **Ciao.**


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